


Fortuity

by lilyquartz



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 01:46:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7665544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilyquartz/pseuds/lilyquartz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world is full of mystery.</p><p>It is full of pain, of fear, and despair.</p><p>And yet it is wonderful.</p><p>When you are given a chance.</p><p> </p><p>An ancient lovely creature, a theif, a hitman, an enchanter, and a dark depressing world, there are times where you can find beauty in unexpected places, friendship among strangers, and most of all, love between two beings.<br/> </p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

What a wonderful world.

So green and divine, the rich smell of earth, the wind swirling around one's form, so crisp yet conforting in soul. Sherlock spread his wings, pearly white with smokey grey on the tip of each glossy feather, as he put a toe on the edge of this world, leaning in closer to the endless sky. His freedom is in the air and his heart aches for it until it is satisfied. Without hesitation Sherlock take the leap....

And he falls....

The beating of wings is heard off into the distance.

~

 

A dark door open up to reveal the hallway's light as a man steps inside glaring at Sherlock's small form on the ground, curled up in a tight ball. He tapped his black umbrella to get his attention. Sherlock slowly rose his head, silver blue eyes meeting icy blue ones of his brother. They both stared at each other for a minute before the elder spoke.

"Lets go home."

He needn't to raise his voice, nor repeat himself as he walked away. Sherlock got up and calmly followed, wrapping his opal white coat around himself, hood covering his dark curls. Bare feet pit patted on the cold floor of his underground prisonment.

Outside, the rain began to fall, cold teardrops slide down Sherlock's coat that kept him warm and dry. He looked up at the grey sky, giving a small whistle in admiration

"Don't even..." His brother Mycroft, with malice, hissed in warning. "Fly off, and you'll spend another month in solitary confindment" Sherlock huffed in response and it was the end of that. A black car with tinted windows waited for them, as the driver immediently open the passanger door. Giving a small shove Sherlock entered first followed by Mycroft, who closed his umbrella and sits across from Sherlock. The entire ride was met with silence, Mycroft refused to look at Sherlock as he gazes out the window. The rain made it hard to see outside, leaving Sherlock tracing the raindrops wavy pattern with his finger.

They came to a stop. Mycroft got out, beckoning Sherlock to do the same. Slowly and with caution, he steps into the muddy ground despite his brother's small protest. Both inside the grand manor that have never change after all these years.

Inside Sherlock was stopped by a maid who tried, and failed to clean his muddy feet. Mycroft dismissed her, settling down on the velvet couch, drink in hand. Sherlock, after giving a smug smile at the poor maid, heads towards the couch and sits next to Mycroft.

More silence was felt between them, their gaze never meeting the other. Thunder rumbled in the distance, the raining pouring harder, with fierce force. The power of nature's storm grew louder as the wind blows away whatever got in it's path, a harsh sound did it make against the walls and against the rattling windows. Mycroft tighted his grip on the glass of his drink, his eyes far and cold.

"I..I am sorry."

Lighting flashed, the glass shattered in Mycroft's hand, spilling amber liquid onto the carpet. A thin trail of crimson leaked out of the shaking fist. A droplet fell and bloomed on the mess below. The rain lighten, the winds stopped and everything was silent once more.

Mycroft, with tears welling up underneath the blue, spoke in soft words.

"Don't ever leave this place again."

Sherlock leans his head against his brother's shoulder for comfort, with closed eyes he whispers in response....

"I promise."

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

This is it.

After years of golden sands and red skies, he returns to the one place he will never call home.

The dark sky blends in well with his mood as a tired John Watson breathes in the toxic smog that mixes in with the rainy dew and rottening objects that were left behind on the street. How did the world ended this way? A life living under the cloud belt of storms that never seem to end, the temperature never passes forty-five in farenheit, winds kicking in from the west. And it appears that all who walk upon this earth is dull and forever filled with sorrow.

He passed by homeless that slouch in the alleys, leaning on the building walls, just life sized broken dolls the were never loved and were never moved. Soon they will never breathe either.

Passing a run down shop, John heads to the flat right beside it. Cracked glass gave way each footstep he given as he ups the steps and enters. Second floor, on the left, the clink of keys and a lock giving in, he closes the door behind.

Picking out a piece of paper from his pocket, he dialed the numbers on his phone. A few seconds of connection, there was a tired voice that answered.

"Yes?"

"Any work you may have?" John can here the grin in the man's voice as he spoke.

"Always."

 

~

The night was chilling to the spine, street lamps illuminated amber through the shadows as John slithers around, keeping low profile. The wind continues to howl, twirling John's blond hair teasingly, as he walks up to a sturdy gate that seems unfazed by the unnatural weather. Putting a gloved palm on one of the bars, he can feel it pulsing underneath him, a heartbeat, warm with warning. Someone wants to keep people out. "No, thats not right." John put his other hand on it.

It is pulsing inward.

Not to keep people out, but to keep something in.

This is where John comes in. 

Although he tried to change his ways he cannot help the fact that he will forever be sinned with greed.

To have a dragon's heart.

His employer, the charming Sebastian, ask him to infiltrate this manor, find and take everything that is on his list and in return, John gets to have a mouth watering ransom and the adrenaline that his body aches for. With a quick glance of the perimeter, he climbs over the gate and landed into a garden flushed with tropical flora. He gasp in amazment as he came across a white plumeria with streaks of yellow and petals tipped with a horizon pink. He slower reach out to touch one with a shaky finger, drawing into it's magnificent beauty.

His mind gave into a halt as he realized what was happening. He violently snatch his hand away, and the lovely flower began to vanish along with every thing else. He stepped back and saw the once vast garden turn into nothing more than a plain lawn with drying grass, more pale brown than green. There were pots scattered about in a formation around the manor's perimeter, each bearing it's own symbol.

"A phantasm spell? Pathetic." He scoffed. Clearly whoever set this up was an idiot. Sure it work on people, but only if they don't put too much thought into it.

"Sometimes I wonder if people do like being manipulated." John mumured to himself as he passed the stupid hallucination trap and began climbing on the ivy growing on one side. He reached towards a balcony. He picked at the lock doors and after sucessfully opening it, he gently stepped inside. Closing the doors silently behind him, he crept around the room. It appears to be a guest room, since there isn't a single soul beside himself that dwells in here. Thin layers of dust cover most of the furniture, spiders already creating webs in the corners of the ceiling, a half melted candle was left on top a drawer on it's side, droplets of wax stain the surface. Someone has been here recently, and there is a probability they are awake at this time of the night as well.

Not wasting anymore time, John looked at the list of things he need to get. He tilted his head, and flipped to the back, then the front. He turns on his phone and light the back of the page. 

Nothing.

This must be a joke. He reads it again and again to himself. He couldn't believe this. Did Sebastian trick him into this. No, he would never do that. Beside, whenever Sebastian says something is important, it got to be one priceless object. Maybe this was one of them.

An opal white coat.


	3. Chapter 3

Sneeking into a large manor, with a person who can cast spells and with someone still walking around in this hour, just to take some coat, isn't exactly what John had in mind as a dangerous, blood pumping heist.

But, never the less, at least he is doing something beside lazing about and watching telly. And he doesn't have to worry about getting some sleep either. John crept through the dark hallways, pressing against a wall every time he swore there was something in the corner of his eye. He checked every room he encounter, picking the locks and searches through every drawer, wardrobe, and chest. Then he puts it all back in place, and locks the door when he leaves. So far he hasn't been able to find this coat, but he did find some jewlery that can be sold for a hefty price.

Opening a small jewelry box, he found several diamond rings, pearly necklaces, ruby and saphire bracelets, and emerald earrings all of them curled with gold and silver. Must have belonged to the wife or mother of this place. Either way, it is too much for one person.

"Just one little ring..." he whispered to himself, deciding to go with the one with a cushion cut. Marveled by it's gorgeous aurora, his heart gave a painfull throb. He gasp, putting one hand over his mouth, the other on his chest. He glanced at the box again and already knew the outcome. He took the whole box, tucked it underneath his right arm as the pain subsided. He release a shallow breath that he was holding and continued on his search.

 

~

The last room was at the end of the hall on the right. John entered quietly, the scent of something peculiar threw him off a bit. He couldn't put his finger on it. There was a mess of books thrown about, some in neat piles, while others look as if they were scorched. "Strange indeed..." John wondered what wandered inside this place beside some lord or lady and an echanter. It's possible that it might be another spell trap, or, in unfortunate cases, a curse. But after that encounter with the phantasm spell, he doubts that this enchanter is strong enough to even create even the most simple of hexes.

Still, better to be with caution than being careless and caught. He search throughout the room, opening a wardrobe, then to the drawers. Although larger than the rest of the other rooms, it had nothing in it, but books, a chemistry set, notebooks, papers filled with equations that John could not comprehend, and what he could not believe was a human skull. "I'm robbing a murderer!" He exclaimed. But no matter where he search, after examining every nook and cranny, there was no coat.

He huffed in annoyance. "If its not up here, then it is on the first floor." He said, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Whats on the first floor?"

He froze at the baritone voice.

Standing in the dark entrance, a tall, lean and lanky man was giving John a piercing gaze with silver, oh so silver, blue eyes. Dark curls in a messy nest on his head, barely passing his ears, cover a bit of his face, one with cupid bow lips and sharp cheek bones that can cut with a touch. His skin was as pale compared to the clothing that covered his frame. John wided his eyes.

He was wearing the coat. The opal white coat.

Dazzling, with speckles of every color in the rainbow. Even in the dark, it glows with prosperity and grace. It drips onto the floor and spreads out, covering the man's feet in its thick material. His heart began to throb once more.

He needs that coat.

Without hesitation, he leaps onto the man, missing by an inch as he dodged him with a step to the side. Falling down, he hooked his foot on the man's leg, tripping him in the process. As he struggles to get up, John was on top of him. Pulling out a suringe, he stabs it into the man's neck. After a few seconds of wrestling him down, he finally went still. John got up, brushing off his knees, he went to pick up the jewelry box that he dropped at the last minute.

A noise was heard in the hallway, follwed by lights glowing in the distance. "Sherlock? Is that you?" Another man, but sounded much older, more posh. "Are you alright brother?" The man called again.

Without a moment to loose, he slung over this man, apparently Sherlock, and headed towards the window. Opening it, he jumped out and lands in the backyard without dropping his cargo. He runs towards the gates where the spell was placed, John pulled out a jar of black paste, murmuring in a language long since lost in time. He splattered the paste on the gates, breaking the spell an the metal bars holding it together.

He runs. 

It has been a while since he felt so alive.


End file.
